


state of dreaming

by darthniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Imagination, M/M, Painter Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:33:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthniall/pseuds/darthniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The low paying artist, Zayn, paints a beautiful portrait of a man from his imagination. Unwilling to sell it, he explores his imagination, painting more and more of this mysterious man he just can't seem to get enough of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	state of dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> based of the song "the state of dreaming" by marina and the diamonds (there might be things that can be triggering, but overall mostly safe... just a warning)

"All I really want is to be wonderful

 

People in this town they, they can be so cruel"

 

 

 

 

Zayn's POV

 

I stared out at the busy city from my window. It was only a few stories high, but it felt like I was on top of the world. I could see everyone move and wander around the big open city. I could see them chat easily with one another with friendly grins slapped on their faces.

 

The only problem with watching happy people from the window, a few stories high, was that I wasn't actually a part of the people. I wasn't down there exploring the city as if it was a maze for me alone to solve. I wasn't down there, faking a silly grin at strangers just to make my day that much easier. I wasn't on top of the world. 

 

I was far from it.

 

I took a long drag of the cigarette, before I smashed the end of it onto the wood of the window frame. I watched it disappear as I threw it out the window and down onto the sidewalk. The hum of the crowds kept me company. But it wasn't enough. I was an outsider. They wouldn't want someone like me to walk amongst them. 

 

A 'damaged soul', they might call me. They're afraid of people like me. They are afraid of what we might say. What seed of thought will I intentionally plant inside their own minds? Nothing. I just wanted to paint out how I felt. I wanted to express myself to the world around me with colors and quotes and places. 

 

But none of that matters anymore. I hadn't felt the urge to paint in what must have been months. I couldn't keep track of the days. They were all blurred together as one lone day of smoking by the window, watching the rest of the world go on with out me.

 

The phone rang. 

 

I didn't answer. If I were to talk to them, what were I to say? Explain myself for months of isolation, just because I'm what they would claim as 'sad'? No. I couldn't do that. They wouldn't understand.

 

I let it go to the answering machine. 

 

The soft ring of Niall's voice rang out through the empty flat, "Zayn, buddy! Where have you been? Haven't seen you in ages! Just giving you a ring to see if you wanna go out to lunch sometime and catch up!" He paused for a moment, as if he knew that I was listening, and was waiting for me to pick up. "Alright, I guess I'll call you some other time. Bye." His voice became thick with disappointment near the end, but I couldn't focus of that right now; I needed to make myself dinner.

 

I stirred the hot water after the noodles had cooked in the foam cup. These quick devices were basically all I ate, seeing as how cheap they were. Of course, being a very talented painter, you get a lot of money. Being on a 'temporary' hiatus, means no money coming in, so I basically had to use my savings just to keep money going towards rent. Food was second on my mind. I used the rest of the money to buy cheap microwaveable foods. 

 

It's not great, but I survive.

 

I keep telling myself that I should start painting again, just to earn the much needed money, but for some reason, I can't stop staring at the white canvas. 

 

The phone rang again.

 

I let it go:

 

"Mr. Malik. I'm calling again for the fourth time today, informing you of your situation. You've run out of paintings to auction off, and people are beginning to lose interest in you and your work. Please pick up another brush and just make something before the both of us go bankrupted." My manager's unnaturally deep voice rumbled in my chest as he echoed through the empty flat. "Also, try to pick up the damn phone once in a while."

 

I could hear him slam the phone down, then he hung up.

 

I took my sweet time wandering to the painting room, the foam cup that held hot ramen was in my hands. The white walls surrounded me, made the white blank canvas in the middle of the room look almost beautifully innocent. Unopened paint given to me by my manager lay scattered around the wooden floor. 

 

Normally, I would take a glance at the empty canvas and see another universe waiting to be discovered, but now, it was just an empty canvas. 

 

I took a big forkful of the noodles and shoved it in my mouth before setting the cup down and picking up a brush. 

 

 

Once I was done, I took a step back to realize that I could tell that it was forced. Hopefully no one could tell that I had put no heart and soul in this piece. I really hoped that my manager couldn't tell...

 

I huffed and threw the brush down onto the ground along with all the paint. This painting was a lost cause and had nothing but black and grays. But, it was done, and no one could say that I didn't try. 

 

I picked up the phone for the first time in weeks, and he picked up on the first ring.

 

"Zayn! You finally answered! I thought you had died!" My manager mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I took a deep breath. I needed him around. 

 

"I have a painting for you." I said. I didn't want to be friendly with him. 

 

"Well then drop it off tomorrow." Was all he said before I hung up. 

 

***

 

I draped a sheet over the painting carefully. I didn't want it to get ruined on the short walk to my manager's office down the street. 

 

I took one last sip of my coffee before washing the cup out in the sink. I hunched down and picked up the sheet covered painting, cradling it close to me as if it were a baby. A very wide baby.. A very weirdly shaped baby..

 

I struggled to pull the flat door open while keeping a firm hold on the painting, but once the door was shut behind me, the worst part was over. I kicked the button for the elevator down, and no one was on, so the painting and I fit nicely. I made my way through the lobby with no problems, not running into anyone that I might have needed to have a conversation with. 

 

The streets were difficult. I needed to get only two blocks down, but it was crowded; Very crowded. It was difficult to hull a wide painting down all this way, and I kept hitting people, even a police officer at one point. 

 

"Watch it!"

 

"Do you need help with that?"

 

"Careful with that thing!"

 

I ignored them all. I didn't need I have conversations with strangers just to be polite; there was no reason. It would just take more time for me to get where I needed to go, rather than stop and have pointless conversations with strangers. 

 

Regardless of the difficulties on the way there, I finally arrived at my manager's office. I pulled open the door and walked right past the secretary who paid no mind to me. She was used to me going where I wanted in the offices. 

 

I shifted the painting and lent in against the wall, before knocking twice on his door which read, "Mr. Griffiths". He opened it quickly.

 

"Ah, Zayn." He said, which sounded like he was trying too hard to sound like a proud father. "Show me what you got."

 

I went over to the painting and pulled off the sheet, giving a very unenthusiastic 'tada' type movement. 

 

Mr. Griffiths pursed his lips and studied it. I shifted my weight suddenly pleading to the universe that he would like my shitty painting that I did in less than three hours.

 

"I expected better from you, Mr. Malik." He said thoughtfully. "You're much better than this."

 

I nodded; I knew that. I couldn't be upset with him for being honest.

 

"I'll take this now.. But I can't promise you it will be worth much.. I would go home right now and start on other piece." I nodded trying not to be irritated at him for being so right. "But Zayn, please take your time." 

 

I nodded again before heading back to my flat.

 

***

 

This time, I set all of the paint out in a line. I ditched the easel and set the blank canvas on the ground. I squirted out a little pile of each of the common colors onto a paper plate and set the plate just to my right. I double checked that all eleven of my good brushes were just in my reach before dabbing one into the brown.

 

I just started painting. I can't explain how my hand moved without warning, and how the colors slowly became something recognizable. Brown hair. That's what I saw first. Then once I realized that it was becoming a portrait, my mind took control. Softer features... blue eyes... Defiantly blue eyes. Crinkles by his eyes, to let everyone know that he smiled a lot. He...... Nice teeth too... Laughing as well. He should be laughing.. He should be really happy. I put him in a simple black background, making his lighter colors pop. 

 

It must have been hours or maybe even days since I started, but I couldn't stop. He needed to be finished. I stepped back, my joints aching from being in the same position for so long. I took a deep breath before looking down at the detailed picture of the man I had just painted.

 

It would be an understatement to say that he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Something about him made me want to see more of him... Made me want to know more about him... 

 

He needed a name... But I didn't have to think too long about it, because the name floated in my head easily.

 

"Louis.." I whispered to him.

 

***

 

"I live my life inside a dream 

Only waking when I sleep 

I would sell my sorry soul, if I could have it all"

 

 

 

 

The phone kept ringing. All day it rang and rang, but I could bring myself to move.

 

I knew who it was; it was my manager. He left voice messages that sang through my near empty flat, scolding me for not giving him a painting sooner than he had hoped. Then got angrier and angrier as I let it ring each time.

 

I couldn't give him the painting. I set in on a chair across from me, and I stared at it. I painted it, and I knew each detail that I had added, but I kept discovering something new, each time, whether it be the exact shade of blue in his eyes, or the way the right side of his smile was just slightly higher than the left.

 

I sipped my coffee, looking at the painting. Why couldn't I just wrap it up and drop it off like every other painting I've done? Why was this painting so different than all the rest?

 

The phone rang.

 

I checked the clock: 2:38 am.

 

I cracked my neck and stood up, very slowly and thoughtfully. Since I couldn't give up this one, I figured it was better to just start to make another painting. So I set my now cold coffee on the counter before making my way to the studio room with one more glance at the painting of Louis sitting on the chair.

 

 

***

 

 

I bit my lip when I looked at the completed painting. It was supposed to be someone lying in bed, while the light was streaming in the the window, looking as if the day was passing by without him. Instead, I couldn't help but recognize the light brown feathery hair that poked put from underneath the thin blankets. I could recognize the eyelashes that could just barely be seen before he was swallowed by the blanket. His face was content, and completely peaceful. I knew who it was, without having to blink an eye.

 

It was Louis.

 

Why was this boy I've never seen nor known invading my mind? What was it about his soft features that made me want to study them? And spend all my spare time thinking about them? And touch them? And kiss them?

 

I set that painting aside along with the first Louis.

 

 

***

 

The phone rang four days later.

 

I knew it was from my manager. I haven't talked to him in days... I got up and finally picked up the phone, knowing that he needed to know what was happening.

 

"ZAYN!" He shouted once he realized that the ringing had stopped.

 

"The painting's not done." I whispered, the four paintings I had completed seemed to stare at me; their laser gaze melted my skin.

 

"What have you been doing, Zayn?" He asked quietly. "Are you okay? Need me to come down?" He sounded so concerned for me, it was hard to say no.

 

But the thought of him seeing the paintings had me shaking. "No. That's fine. I'll try to get the piece done as soon as possible."

 

"Be safe, Zayn." He said before I hung up.

 

I sighed and looked over to the four paintings of Louis. I couldn't stop painting him... He never left my mind. As I looked at him sitting by a river, smiling over at me, I wondered what he would be like... Very happy of course. He deserves to always be happy. You can tell he likes to smile, by the crinkles by his eyes. He was very spontaneous and had childish glow about him as I looked at the fourth painting of him successfully running away from me in a meadow, looking back to grin triumphantly.

 

He seemed like the perfect person.

 

I couldn't help but wonder what his skin might feel like.. I wonder what he might smell like. I wonder what his voice would sound like. I wonder if he could sing. I wonder if he could dance. Did he have a knack for cooking or perhaps was he good at writing? I wonder what his lips might taste like against mine...

 

But this was all absurd as I thought about him. He wasn't real as much as I'd like to think he was. But how could I know so much detail about a man that doesn't exist?

 

I sighed and stretched my sore limbs. It was late in the night. Late enough to look out the window and see the aftermath of hungover young adults slump their shameful way back home. But I didn't. I turned off all the lights in the flat, took one last glance over at Louis, then made my way to my bed. I collapsed on top of it, wondering how long I can put off painting for the auction and continue painting Louis.

 

 

***

 

 

"Zayn.."

 

It was a voice, completely foreign yet totally familiar. I could hear the soft sound of a calm river flowing in the distance.

 

"Zayn, love, wake up."

 

I peeled my eyes open, blinking a few times as the sunlight near burned my eyes. But I opened them, sitting up to get a better look around at where I was. I was lying in the middle of a beautiful meadow. The sun was shining in the distance and to my left, was a running creek, and beyond that, a forest stretched as far as the eye could see. For a moment, I wondered where I was until it began to look somewhat familiar-

 

"Zayn!"

 

I turned to see a very familiar boy dipping his feet in the water. He looked at me with a big toothy grin, and waved me over.

 

"Louis?" I asked in wonder as I stood.

 

"Come on, Zayn!" He said, before jumping onto a rock in the middle of the creek and jumping to the side with the forest. He looked back at me. "Come on, Zayn! I know you can do it!"

 

I didn't even hesitate to follow him across the river. I had never done anything so spontaneous. Usually, I would figure out each step to take, and wonder what the possible outcomes of each decision would be. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins as I jumped onto each rock, and successfully crossing the river.

 

"I knew you could do it, Zayn." Louis smiled at me, and I swear my heart jumped from my chest. His smile was so much more radiant in person. His eyes seemed to shine so much brighter. His voice was soft as if the angels themselves crafted it with the upmost delicacy.

 

I wanted to sit him down and ask him questions. What was his favorite song? What was his favorite way to drink coffee? Did he even like coffee? Could he dance? Could he sing? What was his mother like? Does he have any sisters or brothers? But he seemed to have other ideas, for as I began to stutter his name, he giggled - yes a grown man fucking giggled- and took off into the forest and was out of my sight.

 

"Louis!" I yelled trying to catch up, but the twigs and branches seemed to be grabbing at my ankles and slowing me down.

 

No answer. I ran harder, pushing my legs to go at their limit.

 

"LOUIS!" The darkness seemed to grow around me, engulfing me into an endless forest of black. Louis was nowhere to be seen, but his giggles filled my ears, echoing around me in the dark.

 

 

***

 

 

The dream never left my mind all day. It haunted me as I mindlessly made my coffee, like every morning. Everything felt so real. Louis was so close to me I could feel him. His voice was so much better than anything I could have come up with.

 

 

The phone rang, making me jump back into reality. Back into this dump of a flat and a shit hole of a life I was living. I looked back to the four paintings of Louis I had done, perched happily on the couch. If I just finish another random painting, maybe my manager will let me paint Louis all day. Or maybe, I can sleep and dream of his face again...

 

 

I gulped down my coffee, letting it burn my throat. I had to get this pointless painting done. I needed to paint Louis again.

 

 

I quickly took out my supplies, noticing that I was running low on all the bright colors.. I had a few black, some browns and tans, and then one white. I racked my brain about what I could paint with these colors, because it suddenly felt like I had no time. I needed to finish this as well as I can, and then get back to Louis.

 

 

A piano.

 

 

I dipped the brush into the black, not wasting any time to think about what I was doing, which was something I was probably going to regret later.

 

 

Two hours later, sweat was running down my neck, and my hands were shaking with the amount of concentration I was putting into this painting. I took a step back, looking at how well the separate keys looked. It looked like an actual grand piano, and that just wasn't my styles. Making sure that the paint was still wet, I half-ran to the kitchen and filled up two cups of water before going back to my studio room, and lifting the painting against the wall. Without thinking twice, although I should have been thinking a lot about this decision, I poured the water onto the wet painting.

 

 

In the end, it turned out better than I expected. The canvas morphed and the paint ran slightly down the canvas. Someone somewhere could tell you that this painting was symbolic for something, but in the end it just looked cool as fuck.

 

 

I couldn't even wait for it to dry before I scooped it up and ran out of my flat. The sooner I got this painting to my manager, the sooner I can spend time with Louis.

 

 

I ran down the crowded streets with an exposed and wet painting, but that hardly seemed to matter.

 

 

"Mr. Malik?" The receptionist said, a bit shell shocked as I tried not to run past her and into my manager's office. My usual thing. They don't ever seem to mind me following my own rules.

 

 

"Zayn?" Mr. Griffiths said confused as I came panting into his office with a rather large painting in my arms.

 

 

"I'm done." I said, handing the painting to him.

 

 

His thumbs hit right where the paint was thicker and wetter, "Jesus, Zayn it's still wet... Are you okay? Do you want to go get a coffee with me or something?" He looked at me with such concern that it broke my heart to deny him. Louis was much more important.

 

 

"No thank you sir." I said, trying to scoot my way out of the office, but he set the painting down before lightly grabbing my wrist.

 

 

"What are you doing today, Zayn?"

 

 

Not painting an imaginary man. Not waiting until night so I can hopefully see him again.

 

 

"Nothing."

 

 

"Your friends have been ringing be non-stop for the past week. Niall and Harry I think their names were? They really miss you man, I think you should visit them." Mr. Griffiths said, looking into my eyes with such worry it was really hard to say no.

 

 

So I didn't.

 

 

Thankfully, Harry and Niall were both available the next day, so they set up a coffee date. And I would have been lying if I said that I wasn't excited to see my two best friends again. For the first time in weeks, actually...

 

 

"Zaynie!" Niall cheered when he saw me sitting at the booth, just waiting, because i really had nothing better to do. He grinned and slid in beside me, crushing my ribs with a hug. I chuckled into his neck as I watched Harry smile at me before much more quietly sitting down across from us in the empty side.

 

 

"We've missed you, man!" Harry said from across the table as Niall ungracefully got off of me. "Where have you been? Or, well, how have you been?"

 

 

I shrugged smiling easily, "Not much. Just been relaxing, clearing my mind and shit." The lie slid easily off my tongue. They already had expected me to have gone on some spiritual journey or something, so they didn't have to ponder too much on that statement. "What have you guys been up to?" I skillfully redirected the conversation.

 

 

They didn't seem to mind so much. They talked and talked- well, mostly Niall talked, and Harry smiled and put in his thought every now and then. They told me all about how they managed to go to this bar across town, and this girl who Niall brought home. She ended up being crazy and stayed at their apartment for a week. I laughed at that.

 

 

It was nice. And I missed being with these two lads. But as the level of the coffee in front of us slowly lowered after we had been there for almost two hours, I felt it best that I went home. I had this itching under my skin to go back home. And in the back of my mind, I knew it was because of Louis.

 

 

I didn't tell Niall and Harry that when we stood up and said our goodbyes. I tried not to think to much about the four paintings of him in my flat as they told me they were going to stop by sometime this week, and how they might see my dirty secret. But I did feel even emptier when we parted ways and I watched them enter a cabbie, and drive off into the traffic.

 

 

The walk home seemed longer than the walk there. I wasn't sure if it was because I was split, by wanted to participate in real life, and hang out with the two people I hold most dear, or if I wanted to feel the feeling I was addicted to when I was just thinking about Louis.

 

 

And it hurt more than ever when I realized that I would rather spend my afternoon painting Louis.

 

 

I walked into my building as an ambulance drove by. I tried to redirect my brain to think about what had happened, and who was hurt, but the closer I got to my canvas' upstairs, the more antsy I got.

 

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon painting his eyes. It was difficult because I was running out of the beautiful blue, so I had to use a bit of the green and grey to make up for it, but it didn't matter, because it seemed to fit him better that way. It seemed so Louis by the time I was finished that I had this overwhelming urge to start crying. So I did.

 

 

I cried all the way back to my bed, with a sense of longing that I had never felt before. I wanted this man so deeply, that it was beginning to affect my entire life and the people around me. But for some reason, I didn't care, because I had the paintings in my living room, and I had the dream that captured my every thought, and the hope that I'll dream of him again.

 

 

***

 

 

 

"Step one you say we need to talk he walks you say sit down it's just a talk, he smiles politely back at you, you stare politely right on through.." I heard his voice before my vision cleared, and thank god I was sitting down because his voice was a dose of perfection and heaven mixed together in the most delicious way. I wanted to listen to it in the winter while I was wrapped up in a blanket, cuddled to his chest. I wanted to listen to it poolside in the summer while we both lay on our backs, bathing in the warm sun. I wanted it to be the first thing that I woke up to every morning, and the last thing that I heard every night. It was wrong wrong wrong how addicted I was to his voice just after the first bit of the song, but I couldn't help myself get lost in his voice and his passion that he put into it.

 

 

We were sitting side by side on a piano bench, while his slender fingers dance delicately across the white ivory keys.

 

 

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful

 

 

He continued 'How to Save A Life,' while I watched his fingers play. I hoped it was his favorite song, so I could listen to it every hour of ever day, just to feel that much closer to him.

 

 

"Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend, somewhere along in the bitterness and I would have stayed up with you all night, had I known how to save a life."

 

 

I couldn't stop staring at the side of his face. His eyebrows were scrunched up and his eyes closed, just feeling the music and I would have been lying if I said it wasn't the most attractive thing I had ever seen.

 

 

His lips, his eyes, his hair, his skin, all that was on my mind was Louis Louis Louis and I couldn't bare myself to care.

 

 

It was then when I realized how close I was to him, and how if I could just reach my hand out, I could touch his face.. maybe his lips or his hair. So close if only I could just-

 

 

And I woke up to the sound of the phone echoing in my empty flat.

 

 

***

 

 

Coffee was the first thing removed from the flat. Coffee, was caffeine, and caffeine kept me up longer. The second thing, was that fucking phone was removed from the wall, left to slowly die from lack of charge. My cell was turned off, and the battery removed, incase it decided to come to life and invade another one of my perfect dreams.

 

 

I bought more paint, and loads of canvases with the remaining money I was paid by Mr. Griffiths from the auction of the half-ass painting I had done. Mostly, I got blue, grey and green for his eyes, and a whole array of browns for his hair. I also bought a jar of melatonin, which was used to help people get to sleep faster and stay asleep longer. It helped me when I was feeling a extra lonely and needed an early night to hear Louis say that he loved me, and repeat over and over again until he was left gigging in the sheets next to me.

 

 

A few days after the coffee date with my friends, I swear I could hear Louis' laugh echo through the flat. And others, I could hear him hum How to Save a Life. Those were the days I curled up on the couch, waiting until I was tired enough to go back to sleep.

 

 

Most days, I tired myself out by painting Louis over and over again. Mostly, they were inspired by the dreams I had. And some came into my mind as easily as the thought of Louis himself.

 

 

At the end of the week, I had over 31 paintings of Louis sitting in every location of my flat. It was like he never left me. He was always there for me.

 

 

The worst part of it, was I never got to touch him. I never got to feel his skin, and if it was as soft as it looked, and how I painted it. It was so god damn frustrating that I could hear and see him and ever talk to him but I couldn't touch him or be with him without the effects of too many sleeping pills just to bring my body into another slumber.

 

 

It was a bad night when the thoughts swarmed my head.

 

 

It was a night where the pills weren't affecting my body anymore and fuck I needed Louis. I needed to touch him, and I needed to feel him, and maybe I could kiss him, and maybe see what he tasted like. I wanted to hold his hand and I wanted him to sing me to sleep instead of being on edge until the moment I woke up again. I wanted to wake up late on a Saturday morning and roll over to see his sprawled out in the sheets beside me and peacefully asleep. I wanted him and all of him and I wanted to spend every moment with him instead of staring at the still portraits of him that were surrounding me and even then it didn't feel like that was enough. I needed him beside me to make me breakfast, or maybe just to brew me tea, even though I don't care for tea, but it just seemed like something nice to wake up to and something that I'll never have.

 

 

It was a night where my heart was beating and the blood forcing its way through my veins was begging for Louis, and I couldn't do a damn thing but sit there on the fucking couch and wait for an imaginary man to walk up and invade my life the way I wanted him to since the very first painting.

 

 

"Don't wait any longer." The voice, as clear as day, rang in my head.

 

 

It was Louis'. I could recognize that voice from my dreams anywhere. I couldn't' see him, and I couldn't hear him any longer, even though I screamed his name searching for him through my flat because I know that I heard him.

 

 

When my attempts at finding him were useless, I stopped. The meaning behind his words suddenly hit me like a bus. I knew that I would do anything to be with him. Sacrificing anything... Everything...

 

 

I ran to my room, scrambling to find the bottle, but it was near empty, and that sure as hell wouldn't do anything but tease me.

 

 

'don't wait any longer'

 

 

So I didn't. I grabbed the change in my jar, the very last of my money and the flat key, and ran out without caring that the door slammed and locked into place behind me.

 

 

Normally, the walk to the nearest drug store was about twenty minutes, but somehow, I got there in five, and I didn't question it, and I didn't stop until I found the right isle and found the highest dosage bottle, and ran to the cashier, because there was no need to wait any longer.

 

 

The girl behind the counter knew. Her eyes searched mine as if asking me not to, as if asking if she could refuse to give me the pills which meant more than life for me.

 

 

"Be safe." She whispered. And handed me the little change I had and the bottle. "Take the change." I said quickly, before running out of the store, not noticing the tears that slide down her face in realization.

 

 

I ran back to the flat, not even noticing that my chest was heaving with how much I was running, and fumbling with the bottle and the key to get the damn door open.

 

 

"Zaynie! Surprise!" Niall's voice made me jump, making the bottle slip from my grip and land on the floor with a soft thud. "Wanna go out for a drink, yeah?"

 

 

I scooped the bottle up before they could see, but Harry saw. I didn't wait for it to process in his head because fuck I can't wait any longer. "Not today boys." I said quickly, getting the door open and practically slamming it shut behind me.

 

 

I was surrounded by Louis. And oh Louis I'll be with you finally just one more thing. One more terrifying thing, but you're worth it. I won't wait, we won't wait. Not any more. I have the key and I will open the door and I can finally be with you.

 

 

"ZAYN!" Harry shouted from the other side, pounding the door after he shook the locked handle helplessly. "OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR ZAYN! I WILL KICK IT DOWN!"

 

 

I ripped the plastic off the top of the bottle, and unscrewed the top. The pills were just sitting there, waiting for me finally start this.

 

 

Louis, Louis, Louis...

 

 

I poured myself a glass of water, ignoring Harry and Niall's screamed and protests and banging.

 

 

This waiting will end and we can finally see each other and wow Louis, I can listen to you sing all day.

 

 

I poured some pills into my mouth before painfully swallowing them down with the water.

 

 

Oh Louis, you can finally tell me about your family and were you grew up and I can tell you all those corny jokes I've been practicing just so I can hear you laugh and maybe you can laugh into my chest while we lay together on the couch, wouldn't that be nice, Lou?

 

 

I laid on the couch as I swallowed more pills, just for good measure.

 

 

Look, Louis! You're looking at me. I can't wait to look at you for the first time outside my dreams. Maybe I can kiss you like I've been imagining... You'll let me do that right? But I know you. You'll kiss me back because you're just a lovely person. I don't have to wait any longer, Lou. Thank you for giving me the courage Louis.

 

 

"I love you, Louis." I said out loud, letting my eyelids droops down.

 

 

My thoughts were becoming jumbled and I wasn't sure if the door was finally kicked in before or after I imagined Louis' perfect smile, and how proud he would be of me. I wasn't even sure what the door being kicked in really meant. I wasn't sure if it was good or bad, or even if it meant anything at all.

 

 

The only thing that made sense in the world of blackness was someone calling out my name.

 

 

"Zayn?" A voice I never thought I'd hear, and a hand gently placed on my cheek.

 

 

And that's how I knew that I was dead, because I had finally felt the love of my life.

 

 

*  
*  
*

 

 

Louis' POV

 

 

"There's no snacks here!" Liam complained, closing the fridge dramtically. "How are we supossed to work and save lives on an empty stomach!" He threw his hands up dramtically as he slumped into the recliner next to mine. 

 

 

I rolled my eyes at him and continued to stare at the screen, watching the opening credits to a movie on Netflix that I had never heard before. Liam, Andy, Stan and I were the only ones in the firestation that night. Unfortunatley, we had the night shift so i couldn't go home to my empty flat and watch the same movie on Netflix with with a giant pizza of some sort. But at least when i was working I had some company in the firehouse. 

 

 

Stan was reading a book on the couch to my right, and Liam was pouting about being hungry in the recliner to my left. Andy was taking a nap in the back, which was very against the rules, but that dude never got any sleep with his second job, so we usually just woke him when we had a call. We hadn't had a call in a few days, so I wasn't expecting much action tonight. 

 

 

"Should we order a pizza?" I questioned after hearing my stomach growl. 

 

 

Liam rolled his eyes, "What pizza place is open at..." He checked his watch, "Ten at night?"

 

 

Before i could respond, a loud alarm rang throughout the house. The three of us jumped up, Stan running back to make sure that Andy was awake, although I doubt he'd be able to sleep through the alarm. 

 

 

Liam and I ran to the garage, Liam reading out the response, "Not a fire. They need medical assistance." I sighed in relief. I didn't want to bother with my heavy uniform. Liam and I checked the truck quickly making sure that everything was inside, before jumping inside quickly followed by Andy and Stan.

 

 

"All in?" I asked from the drivers seat and slipping on my headset. I heard three comfirmations in my ear, before I opened the garage door, started the alarm, and followed Liam's instructions to the location. 

 

 

We arrived in no less than five minutes. The firehouse must not have been too far away. My flat was just a few blocks away as well. I parked in front of the apartment building, shutting off the alarm and taking off my headset as the other three quickly jumped out with all of the general equipment for this type of call. Liam said it was an overdose on some sleeping medication. 

 

 

"Third floor." Liam mummbled to the three of us as we jogged to the stairs, Stan staying behind just enough to tell the receptionist what was happening. 

 

 

Once we got up the three stories, it wasn't too hard to find the right door. Two young lads were banging loudly on one, screaming loudly for a man named Zayn to 'open up or I'll knock the door down."

 

 

"What's happening?" Liam questioned the two of them.

 

 

The curly haired one quickly went into a story about how their friend has been closed off so they came to surprise him and he came back with a bottle of melatonin, ran away from them and locked the door. He hadn't responded them to them in ten minutes, they told us. It was a classic case of suicide.

 

 

Liam nodded and wasted no time to begin kicking the door done. After two kicked, I joined him on the third and the door went caving in. The three of us ran into the flat, but quickly faltered when we looked around. All around the flat, leaning against every open space and hanging carelessly on the walls, was about 30 well done paintings of me. 

 

 

"What the fuck..." Andy mummbled, looking around. 

 

 

"He's here!" Liam pointed out, brining Andy from his shocked state and tothe man lying on the couch. His eyes were closed peacefully, and his hand that was hanging off the edge of the couch was softly grazing a painting of me, smiling, my eyes crinkling and all.

 

 

"Zayn?" I asked, remembering the name that the two lads outside had used. I ran forward and placed a hand on his cheek. He really was strikingly beautiful, even in his state. I placed two fingers on his neck, feeling a very faint pulse, slowly, and very slowly, fading out. i could feel his chest rise and fall until the breathing slowed completely.

 

 

"We're losing him," I breathed, a bit shocked that my heart sunk at the very thought of losing this stranger. I had never seen him before, maybe just another face in the crowd, but he had most definetly seen me before. I wanted to see his eyes open and discover the exact color they were. I wanted to hear his voice, and listen to his life story... where he came from and why he painted me. I found it creepy, extremely creepy, that he painted me in his spare time. But looking at him, he looked like just another depressed young adult, and I wanted to know why he was so sad and why he chose me over anything and everyone else to paint. Was I the light at the end of his dark tunnel or was I the hammer that was bringing him down.

 

 

I must have been staring at him for far too long, because Liam grabbed my shoulders and forced me out of the way. He put his hands together in the middle of Zayn's chest, and pressed down with the heal of his palms. The sickening cracks of his ribs snapping echoed throughout the flat. 

 

 

I felt sick to my stomach for the first time since i got this job. This man lying on the couch, no longer fighting for his life, had this strong connection to me, and as creepy as it sounds, it felt like I had a connection to him as well.

 

 

I shook myself from my shell shocked state, and ushered his two friends outside the flat and into the hallway. They didn't need to see his friend like this. And they sure and hell didn't need to see my face plastered all over the walls with me inside.

 

 

"How long has he been depressed?" I asked, trying not to listen to Liam's grunts and Andy's moral support and Zayn's ribs cracking in the room with the open door. 

 

 

"He could have been for months." The curly haired lad said, pulling at the roots of his hair with tears running down his face. "He was so good at hiding things and keeping secrets and he didn't want to hang out with us for weeks and I should have seen the signs sooner but I thought we just wanted to focus of his art, you know, make money but-"

 

 

the blonde one interupted his friend's rambling to ask me, "Did you know Zayn?"

 

 

I shook my head slowly, unable to get those paintings out of my head. "No. I've never spoken to him a day in my life."

 

 

It was silent. It was silent when the paramedics finally arrived, taking over Liam's CPR and rushing him to the ambulance. No one said anything more about the paintings,and thankfully, I didn't have to answer any awkward or unknown questions.

 

 

Liam being the kind person he was, offered Niall and Harry (we quickly learned their names) a ride to the hospital in our truck. 

 

 

Normally we wouldn't follow patients back to the hospital, but with me being the main topic on this guy's mind, I'm pretty sure we all were curious as to whether or not this guy would be okay. 

 

 

We dropped the two boys off with Stan and Liam, who walked them up to the counter, making sure that the hospital knew to tell them any and all information as it happened. I parked the truck near the back of the lot with Andy. We began making our way to the entrance, with my hands stuffed deep into my pockets, when he talked about the damn paintings. 

 

 

"You have a right stalker..." He tried to joke, but that wasn't something to joke about. As creepy as it was (and it really was creepy) that he painted me and my face over and over again, I really felt a sense of pride and longing that I was this stranger's rock that held him into sanity... and I really hoped that I wasn't the one who drove him out of sanity. 

 

 

I didn't even have the heart or words to respond to him.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

It had been three hours since we arrived at the hospital. They were flushing his system from all the drugs that was affecting his body. They said he was alright, and we could see him when he was in a stable condition. Andy, Stan and Liam left. They needed to go back to the firehouse in case another call came in. It made sense, I mean, I should have gone back with them. For some reason, I couldn't. I had to stay. Make sure this Zayn kid was alright. Hear his voice tell me that he's alright, and he won't do anything so bloody stupid again and then I'll be on my way. Eat a pizza and have a laugh with Liam. Go home and watch Netflix until I go to sleep. I mean, of course I'll be okay after this. I'll be just fine knowing that I had such a strong influence on someone I had never met before. Just fine.

 

 

Niall and Harry stayed with me. They didn't ask me any questions about the paintings they had to have seen, and I was thankful for that. I had no answers anyways. They had called Zayn's family, but they were on the other side of the world. Aparently, as Niall had filled Louis in, Zayn had moved away to New York as soon as he finished school, and began painting for a living. They promised to keep in contact with the nice family. 

 

 

A man stumbled in moments after the call, mumbling something about 'knew that kid would have done something stupid' and 'should've done something else'. Harry spoke to the man quietly, a calming hand on his shoulder. The man's face was flooded with guilt, but then again, so were the other three faces in the room, including mine. 

 

 

It was five hours after we arrived, and the man had to leave for work, leaving the three of us falling asleep on each other in the waiting room. Not a word was spoken for a good amount of time, until I realized that my shift at the firehouse ended an hour ago, calling Liam for a moment to beg him to clock me out and to cover for me if any one had asked about it. Liam told him not to worry about it, and that everyone understood why I would have wanted to be here. He quietly wished me and Zayn good luck on whatever happened. I nodded, not realizing that he couldn't see me, and hanging up. 

 

 

The doctor finally came out, looking at the three of us before smiling softly, "Zayn's blood and stomach is clean. He should be waking up any time."

 

 

We nodded, and followed the doctor down the long hallway of the ICU. The hall spelt of old people and sterile and rubber and it made my stomach queasy. I hated hospitals, and I forced myself not to think about the fact that i really didn't want to see Zayn in this kind of place. 

 

When we got to his room, he looked about the same as when I saw him on the couch. Lifeless, and pale. This time, wires were poking out from the creases in his arms by his elbows, and I really tried not to think about that.

 

 

We gathered around the room, and I was thankful that Niall and Harry accepted me as Zayn's 'welcome home' party. They treated me like one of their friends, and it made pride swell in my chest and I couldn't help but wonder why this man and his life had such an affect on me. 

 

 

"Do you think he can hear us?" Niall mumbled, his eyes never leaving Zayn for a moment. 

 

 

I shrugged, although I didn't think that he could see me. 

 

 

"Zayn, buddy," Niall began as we scooted our metal chairs closer to the bed. I was just to his left and I could feel my palms getting sweaty. "Can you hear us?"

 

 

When there was no response, Niall and Harry both attempted to coax him out of his slumber. Telling him stupid jokes, promising him food when he woke up... everything you could think of. Neither of them seemed to understand that when he woke up, he'd still be in the state of mind as the moment he took the pills. I wasn't even sure if he would be disappointed or relieved if he woke and realized that his plan hadn't worked. 

 

 

I stayed quiet, until ten minutes later, Niall and Harry began running out of things to say. I grabbed his hand on impulse and ran my thumb over the top. "Zayn? Can you hear us?" My voice sounded quieter than I had hoped. I cleared my throat and spoke up, "Could you wake up for us? We'd love to see your eyes." 

 

 

Thankfully, Niall and Harry didn't judge me when I did this. They probably thought I was a long lost friend of his. Or maybe an old boyfriend that he couldn't get of his mind. 

 

 

Zayn tilted his head just to the left, towards me, and his hand twitched in mine. 

 

 

My breath hitched. I put on a brave face even though my heart was erratically beating and I was downright terrified of his reaction to me. "Zayn could you wake up for us? You're almost there, love." My voice was thankfully not shaking like the rest of my body. 

 

 

His eyelids fluttered, and he slowly blinked his way in reality. I wondered breifly what he dreamed about, and if he dreamed at all. He didn't allow time for his eyes to get used to the bright lights before shutting them again.

 

 

"Louis," He mumbled, shifting slightly in the bed, squeezing my hand as if it were his lifeline. His deep raspy voice sending chills down my spine. His accent was thick and I thought I was going to reduce to a puddle right then and there. 

 

 

I had no idea how he knew my name, and I was left for a loss of words. This man really did stalk me. This beautiful, torn apart man had a weird creepy connection with me. It should have creeped me out more than it actually did. 

 

 

"It's too bright, Louis." He mumbled again. I sent Niall and Harry a frantic look, but they just smiled, because hey, their friend was alive. 

 

 

"I know, Zayn. Just open your eyes, it'll get better." I found myself saying, thankful my mouth could work while the rest of me was panicking. 

 

 

"Why do I feel tired and uncomfortable. Shouldn't death be peaceful?" He mumbled, hardly coherent, and still keeping his eyes shut.

 

 

"You're not dead, love." I whispered, stroking his hand with my thumb again.

 

 

His eyebrows scrunched together, and he opened his eyes. They blinked a few times, getting used to the bright light from the light above and the sun streaming in just after sunrise. A reminder of how long the three of us had been awake. 

 

 

Once his eyes had adjusted, he turned to me, a confused look passing over his face. Then his gaze dropped to our hands intertwined, and suddenly I wondered if that was a good idea in the first place. 

 

 

"Then how are you here? Am I dreaming?" He brought a hand to his head, holding his forehead as if he had a headahe. 

 

 

I smiled slightly, "No, Zayn. You're awake and alive. And I'm here too." I added, suddenly wondering if this man killed himself to get away from me in the first place. I felt my heart drop and the urge to go home and drown in self pity was growing. 

 

 

Zayn looked back and me in wonder, his brown eyes looking at me as if I was an angel brought down to earth just for him. That was something I could get used to. 

 

 

"You're real." He whispered just to me, smiling in amazement. I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and a bright smile. His happiness was so addicting already and I always wanted to be the one to cause it. I wanted to wake up next to him, and have him be my first and last thought every day. I wanted to kiss him and feel him and listen to him tell me about his life and if this is what just sitting next to him felt like, I couldn't wait until I could lay next to him after a long night of touching and touching and loving...

 

 

"Welcome back, Zaynie." Niall smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is really appreciated :)


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